


The Detrimental Effect of Lemon Tea

by Jem (letalloursingingfollowhim)



Category: Six - Marlow/Moss
Genre: Angst, Other, Poor Joan, Saddness, TW: Panic Attacks, TW: Vomit, i wrote this for a friend!, im sorry everyone, ladies in waiting, literally pure angst, this hurt to write, tw: brief sucidal ideation/self harm mention, tw: caffeine overdose, tw: self deprication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:28:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23796928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letalloursingingfollowhim/pseuds/Jem
Summary: Joan has been lying to the others for weeks about her caffeine consumption. These are the effects of when it gets too bad.
Relationships: n/a
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23





	The Detrimental Effect of Lemon Tea

**Author's Note:**

> Hey lol, this has been sitting for a little while. I posted it on Tumblr, but never here. I don't really write ladies-in-waiting, but this was for a friend! There might be a part two to this, but for now, a oneshot!

Three was not enough today. In fact, three hadn’t been enough for a week – Joan had been having at least four daily. But four wasn’t enough today either. And so, as she brewed her black lemon tea in the kettle of the shared Ladies in Waiting dressing room, Joan added six caffeine tablets to her tea. Hopefully, it would be enough to last her, she thought, disregarding the two she had already had previously in the day. Joan hadn’t slept for just going on four days now – all her work was much too important.

The tea boiled quickly as she poured the water over the tablets. Joan dissolved the tablets before she put the tea bag in because they had to be dissolved before anyone else saw her do such things. Joan knew how awful it was to lie to everyone – how Bessie had smiled and complimented her on taking control of her caffeine intake made her heart hurt. The smiles shared whenever Joan walked on stage for warm-up holding her lemon scented travel mug made her feel… bad. She knew what she was doing was worse than her coffee.

Shaking her head to rid the thoughts, she quickly shoved the tea bag into the travel mug and began to stir it as Bessie walked in. Bessie was clutching her own mug and a box of Whittard Strawberry and Vanilla tea. It was her favourite type, even if it was shockingly expensive.

“Is the water still warm?” Bessie asked, setting down her own things, noticing the steaming hot tea in Joan’s hand.

Joan shrugged, taking a large gulp of her tea. It was too hot, but the last two caffeine pills had stopped working. “Probably, I just made mine.”

“I really must try your lemon tea one day,” Bessie smiled, hastily pouring her water into her mug as warm-up had just been announced.

Joan laughed; an anxious spike shot through her chest. What if she asked to try it today? “Ha, yeah! It’s cheaper than yours, anyway.”

Joan picked up her mug, taking another few large sips as her chest fluttered slightly. It was normal, this happened. Without much more words for fear of accidently disclosing to Bessie that she still had a caffeine problem, she began to make way to stage for the warm- up. It was a time she enjoyed, it always helped her to feel less lonely, everyone around her, singing and enjoying the stuff she was playing.

Warm-up always seemed to go so quickly. Joan always got so excited and into it, the caffeine just helping ever so slightly with that. She felt great, even if her stomach was turning a little and her chest wouldn’t stop fluttering, but still, she felt like she was on top of the world.

“You’re cheery today!” Jane smiled towards the pianist during the physical warm up, noticing the bright smile which had been plastered on her face the entire time.

Jane? Noticed her happiness? Joan beamed, practically unable to find the words to thank her. So instead, she smiled wide and kept with playing the upbeat tune on her piano, taking large gulps of her now lukewarm tea every so often.

After the warmup ended all too quickly, she rushed back to her dressing room with more energy than she had had in a long time, her worries about the others finding out about her caffeine problem still didn’t even attempt to cross her mind. In their shared dressing room, she took a seat and finished up her tea. Her entire body felt like it was vibrating, but she didn’t quite mind it yet.

She only truly began to mind when it was the five minute call and her hands were trembling so much she couldn’t get into her own costume. As she struggled, her chest was heavy while trying to catch a breath, panic was coursing through her body. Everyone else would be making way down to stage and she couldn’t even get in her costume! After at least the five minutes (if not more) she had just about managed to get into her costume, but it was significantly more uncomfortable and itchier than usual. Sighing, she hung her head low and walked to stage, the happiness waring off quickly.

The disappointed looks from everyone hurt. It was her own fault for being stupid and being late. Stupid. Disappointment. Unworthy. Thoughts rushed through her head as she took position behind her keyboard. All Joan wanted was the feeling of warmup again – all she got was a whirlwind of thoughts, a headache, and the beginning of a stomach-ache.

As the queens did their usual pre-show ritual, Joan sat with her head in her hands, trying to stop the spinning of the world. What was going on? How had she felt so well and great earlier? The first note Joan played into “Ex-wives” was the wrong note and it was quite obvious, receiving quick glares from the other Ladies. But she could barely muster enough will to care anymore; they were always disappointed in her – what was so new now?

All too suddenly, Joan felt a sharp, spiking pain through the right side of her head, and she quivered, closing her eyes tightly for a few seconds. Not a moment later, a cramp began to take grip of her stomach, twisting and turning it until she was nauseous and fighting the urge to clutch her stomach and gasp. Nevertheless, she ignored the feelings. It happened sometimes, she thought, her anxiety caused awful stomach cramps often like this. Joan didn’t associate it with the amount of caffeine pills she’d taken even if she had felt this way many a time due to caffeine overdosing.

It was getting hard to sit up right by Catherine of Aragon’s speech before “No-way”. The cramps refused to let up; it felt like someone was trying to crawl their way out of Joan’s stomach by tearing up her flesh inside out. She was gasping for breaths as nausea took its awful hold on her by the start of Catherine’s singing. But still, she kept playing because she couldn’t selfishly hurt the show like that – the show before herself, always.

Gasping for air while her stomach turned and her hands trembled playing the keys, Joan looked a complete state. Pallor was setting in and beads of sweat were running down her face which was set in a grimace. It hurt so much. It felt so awful. She felt so helpless. For as long as she could, Joan kept trying to play with as much vigour as she usually would, but she could only keep it up halfway through the song before the notes started to come out wrong and her eyes began to glaze over with tears of pain and upset.

Finally, by the end of “No-way”, Joan pushed herself from her keys and wrapped her arms around her stomach, pleading to herself that no one saw. Metallic tasting saliva was filling her mouth at an alarming rate and she was sure that if she didn’t get off stage within a matter of moments, she would vomit all over her keyboard. Joan couldn’t handle the shame and embarrassment of either.

Gripping anxiety kept her in place. Her heart was beating so fast she was sure she’d go into cardiac arrest, her hands were trembling involuntarily, so much so that they had started to go tingly at the fingertips, and her head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton wool to the point that her eyes were having a hard time focusing.

She had to get off stage now or else she would throw up.

The start to the Anne Boleyn interlude would be a relatively enjoyable short piece which Joan got to play, but now, even the idea of a second more of music made her head ache. It had gone from shooting pain behind her right eye to the feeling of her entire head being constricted in a tight rubber band. Why was she feeling so plainly awful?

Without anymore hesitation, Joan got up on jelly-like legs. She had no one to inform as she was the person they went to whenever they had to inform someone that they had to leave stage. Like a stumbling lost puppy, Joan quickly clambered off stage, breath fast and heavy. The set of stairs down to the dressing room were now officially the worst thing ever invented, as Joan deemed them.

By the time she had reached the bottom of the stairs, she was close to collapsing into herself and vomiting right then and there – it would be so much easier than having to get to the bathroom which there was only one of.

“Joan?” a voice came – Lizzie, the stage manager.

“Huh?” she replied, her voice weak as the contents of her stomach tried to force their way out.

“Do we need to send Jamie on?” Lizzie asked, seeing at side glance Joan’s pallor and obvious illness.

Panicking from someone seeing her in the state she was, Joan shook her head, frantic. No of course Jamie didn’t need to go on, Joan totally hadn’t just come off stage ill! In retrospect, it was an incredibly stupid decision and caused a show stop which Joan knew she’d get berated about at a later stage.

Joan didn’t see nor hear Lizzie’s response as her stomach cramped violently again and she started to retch. It felt like forever by the time she had locked herself in the tiny stall of the bathroom at the theatre where she was finally free and alone. Usually that would be ideal, but her mind was racing and just about coming to terms with the fact she’d denied an alternate keys player to take her place. Stupid idiot.

However, she didn’t have much time to contemplate the damage which had been done as her body decided it was no longer possible to have just so much caffeine in its system anymore. Usually, whenever Joan threw up after taking too much caffeine, it calmed and settled her stomach a little at least. But this time, it set it to turmoil.

The next thirty minutes were a blur for Joan. It felt like every other moment she was clutching at her stomach and vomiting what was now nothing but bile which burnt her throat. No matter what, however, the cramping and nausea wouldn’t let up. Joan sat curled in on herself, dizzy and shaking, head to her knees wishing she could just end herself.

Once everyone else found her in the state, they’d surely want her off the musical. She had been lying to them for weeks and weeks and was never not being a disappointment or embarrassment; indeed, she wouldn’t be surprised if they never wanted to speak to her again.

Tears began to form in her eyes, spilling suddenly and in rapid succession, just furthering the constricting ache in her head. There was at least twenty minutes left of the show and, even whilst sobbing into her knees, Joan wondered if there was enough time to clean herself up and pretend like everything was fine. Even if it was inevitable, the idea of the people she cared about most hating made her want to claw at her arms and not stop.

However, her plans were quickly thwarted by the wave of nausea that left her re-gagging over the toilet and stomach aching from the sheer emptiness that was caused by her having thrown up so much. Joan was so dizzy… so shaky. All she wanted was to be held by Jane and told it was okay… mayhap on a comfortable sofa and a hot water bottle pressed to her stomach.

But that was never going to happen.

“She doesn’t love you, Joan. You will never take place of Katherine,” Joan spoke to herself, barely above a whisper as it hurt to speak. A shiver ran through her body at the fact Jane would never love her.

Before too long, she heard the familiar voices of the others coming off stage and so, Joan heaved herself off the bathroom floor. Her expression hadn’t changed from no less than a grimace and she was hunched over, sweat dripping from her forehead, and her pupils much more dilated than usual.

Walking out of the bathroom, breathing rapid, Joan accidentally found herself in the queens’ dressing room than her own. Her legs were close enough to giving up from the short walk that she had to find a place to sit down and if that was with the queens where she didn’t belong, she would anyway. Besides, Jane was there.

“Love, are you alright?” Jane asked, her head poking out of her jumper as she went to sit beside Joan, pulling her into a gentle hug.

Why was Jane doing this? She must have an ulterior motive? Joan began to think as she didn’t fully relax into the hug and shook her head. What reason did Jane have to talk with her when Kitty was in the room too.

“We all got so worried when you left. Aren’t you feeling well?” Jane asked again, tentatively reaching a hand to touch her forehead – warm.

“Don’t feel well,” Joan squeaked out, tears brimming her eyes. When did she ever become this important to Jane? Was she important or was this a ploy? Her chest tightened further at the idea that Jane might be doing this for her own benefit.

Before Jane had a chance to reply, an extremely displeasured looking Bessie stormed into the dressing room, shaking her head with a set face, holding a small, blue box. The box of Joan’s caffeine pills.

“Joan, what the hell? What the hell! What are these?” Bessie presented them as Joan’s heart sunk.

It wasn’t long before Maggie rushed in behind her, looking equally displeased. “The show stop? What was that?” she chimed in.

In that moment, Jane snaked her arm away from Joan, realising the thing in Bessie’s hand were the caffeine pills she’d promised she’d thrown away the day she promised she’d stop drinking coffee. How much had Joan been keeping from them?

Shaking her head, Jane stood up. “You overdosed on them, didn’t you?” she asked, kicking herself for missing the signs. The trembling, the dilated pupils, the sweating. All common sighs. She’d seen them all before, but this was the first time Jane had ever felt such disappointment in Joan. If only she had been honest and allowed them to help.

Joan had no words. She had no words to say for the tears falling down her face. All she managed to get out was a small, “I’m sorry”. How could she do this to her friends? She was an utter disappointment to them, they didn’t even need to say it for Joan to feel the disappointment ring off of them all.

Without a second word, Bessie and Maggie walked out whispering something about them not driving Joan home, so she only hoped someone would offer to take her home as she was far too weak and her nausea was on the rise again, so the idea of throwing up in a taxi was not appealing.

But no one offered. They all shot her bone-chilling disapproving glances as they walked out. She was cold, alone and with no where to go. And so, she waited. Surely someone would come back after stage door?

They didn’t.

Joan stayed in the queens’ dressing room overnight, shivering and vomiting every so often. She still felt just so ill. In the end, exhaustion finally took over her and so, she fell asleep on the hard wooden floor, just wishing someone cared enough about her to help her, to not look so annoyed at her all the time. She truly was a useless failure, wasn’t she?


End file.
